A Half Uninvited Guest
by StrangeAsWeird
Summary: Feliciano invites his brother Romano to stay with him and Ludwig, much to the German's dismay. Romano's willing to do anything to get his brother away from Ludwig. All Ludwig wants is to not go insane, though, he realizes it's harder than it looks. Italy/Germany. Hints of Romano/Spain.
1. Chapter 1

"You know I hate your brother, Feli."

The two were sitting across from each other in their cozy kitchenette, made even cozier from the heat and scent of food in the oven. This response did not surprise Feliciano, but disappointed him just a tad, being that, in his head, waiting for Ludwig to settle down for a half hour or so with a newspaper in the sitting room while the smell from Feli's good cooking (pasta, as always) wafted in the air might've loosened the German giant up a bit, but (as usual) the Italian was mistaken. Though Feliciano had tried his best to be as delicate in breaking the news as possible, Ludwig predictably responded as harsh as ever, and what little progress he had at relaxation after a long day at the office was soiled. Maybe it was because Feliciano couldn't be delicate about bad news if his life depended on it.

"_Ludwig?" Feliciano tried as he set a plate of pasta in front of the German as he sat down to eat, "Did you have a good day at the office?" The boy tried to remain nonchalant, but his amber eyes, filled with hesitancy and doubt, were a dead giveaway of his inner tribulations. _

"_Not really," Ludwig replied gruffly, "The copier jammed twice and I set a new world record for paper cuts." He showed his marred hands as proof, tiny nicks in his palms ruining otherwise perfect alabaster skin. "Oh! And Fred Jones from accounting had another hissy fit when his department head, Kirkland, I think it was, didn't listen to his ludicrous ideas to 'better the employee productivity' or some shit." _

"_Awww…" Feliciano said in genuine concern, even though the bad news was still clawing at the back of his mind, "That idea to replace the twenty-eighth floor with a basketball court wasn't a bad idea…"_

_The German laughed a low but otherwise uncharacteristic sonorous bellow that echoed off the walls, so uncharacteristic that the Italian chimed in, though he wasn't quite sure why. The basketball court didn't seem like a bad idea to Feliciano, but if Ludwig chose to be happy for no apparent reason, he might as well take advantage._

"_So Ludwig…I just wanted to let you know while you're still happy and smiling and laughing that I called my brother and invited him to stay with us for a week or so." Feliciano didn't breath at all in that whole sentence and after the word "so," he immediately forked a bigger than average amount of pasta into his gullet, allowing preventative measures of his foot from being lodged in there, and looked down at his plate of pasta in anguish for what could've possibly been the first time in his life. _

And that's how things are so fucked up right now.

Ludwig's previous mirth was now overshadowed by what his Italian lover had dubbed the "angry at me face," with his brow creased and his thin lips down-turned in a scowl. Feliciano's sweet brown eyes meet the German's icy blue ones, but Ludwig's stare of unadulterated agitation didn't waver, for his hatred for Romano overpowered the adorableness that was Feli's essence.

For the moment, anyway.

"Come on, Ludwig!" the Italian urged. "Romano will be super happy to see you when he gets here!"

"He hates me too, Feli." Ludwig huffed in cold indifference.

"He does not."

"Ya, he does. I doubt "potato eating bastard" is a term of endearment in Italy."

The Italian bit his lip in what was the closest he could come to contemplation, since he usually thought for a second, but then got distracted by a passing squirrel and/or other woodland creature. Ludwig would just have to warm up to the idea. Romano _was _Feliciano's brother after all, and they had to see each other eventually.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig, but Romano is…uh…already on his way," the Italian said meekly, sinking lower and lower into his seat at the table.

Ludwig sighed and dropped his fork onto his now empty plate in frustration, clattering unnecessarily as it did so; only succeed to frustrating the easily irritable German even more. Feliciano looked at him from across the table, flashing the most adorably pathetic facial expression he could muster, which, not surprisingly, was quality work.

"Fine," said the German resolutely. "He can stay. But I want him to stop calling me a potato bastard or he's out on the streets."

The Italian's face lit up with the energy of a thousand tesla coils, and in one fluid motion, he leapt across the table and tackle-hugged Ludwig with a grip that would've made an MMA fighter green with envy. Felicano kissed the German's face all over in gratitude, and continued doing so until Ludwig eventually pried the small boy off of him, which wasn't a small feat. Really. He was thinking of getting some Crisco if the Italian held on any tighter.

* * *

Unfortunately for Ludwig, Feliciano's brother Romano arrived early the next morning, just in time to catch the German on his way out, saluting him with a sharp "Farewell, German scum." Italy would later argue that he was at least successful in his efforts to prevent his crass brother from calling him a potato bastard, to which argument Ludwig was not amused. The German put on a cheerful face to the point of being pretty fucking creepy and said with a laugh so fake it made his insides lurch, Ludwig merely said "Happy you're staying with us, Romano," and swiftly slammed the door behind him so loud, Feliciano nearly jumped from his seat on their living room couch.

Romano looked after the German in listless contempt and patted his brother on the back in pseudo-reassurance. He took a seat next to Feliciano, on a couch that he believed was far too soft to be structurally legitimate and immediately went off.

"You really shouldn't be with a guy that scares you, ya know." Feliciano's eyes widened at the accusation, and swiftly shook his head.

"Oh, brother Romano, Ludwig doesn't scare me!" he counters cheerfully, "He's just naturally like that, and I've always been a tad jumpy. Don't you remember us growing up together?"

Romano's grimace only advanced in degree at that. "Yes, and I try to forget it every day."

"Is that what you talk about to that therapist Antonio you see every week?" Feliciano asked innocently, only wanting to know what was going on in his mysterious brother's life. That question, however, wasn't the most productive as far he was concerned in reaching his goal, for Romano became silent immediately, a pink flush dusting across the apples of his cheeks.

Feliciano waited and waited and waited for his brother to respond, but quickly got bored of this and continued. "Well, anyway…I'm glad you're here, brother! What should we do together first?" His smile was dazzling, and it made Romano's jetlag, potato bastard, and questions about his Spanish lover induced headache more severe.

"I just need a siesta, Feli," Romano gushed in convincing fatigue, "Go out and do something stupid without me today. I'll stay here and rest."

Feliciano found it odd that Romano would stay home by choice, (he was usually the barhopping one, while Feli was contented to sleeping and eating past all day) but he shrugged his shoulders and left Romano to his own devices. He knew his brother could take care of himself, moreso than he could, and quickly migrated his mind to another subject entirely: what pasta should he make for tonight's dinner? He hadn't gone to the market in a while. Perhaps he could buy out the stockroom again…and even run into a few squirrels on the round trip, if he was lucky.

* * *

Romano _did _have an ulterior motive to getting his brother out of the house. With the proper amount of privacy, he was able to do what he did best (snooping) without being detected. Feliciano was an idiot, but he knew what Romano looked like when he was looking for something, and he would only impose problems. And the German was a whole other thing entirely. He wasn't stupid (despite what Romano would claim out loud) and he could snap Romano like a twig if it caught his fancy, and the Italian liked to remain in one piece, seeing as how it was essential for his survival and everything.

He _knew _that German pig, the hypothetical body snapper in question, was simply no good for his brother Feliciano, but, as always, his brother defied all logic and reason, and fell hopeless in love with a fucking _robot_ for God's sake, so something had to be done. Romano knew he needed proof, too, for Feli's love for Ludwig was so strong it would deny anything but cold hard fact that shook his entire perception of this god-like figure. With this in mind, Romano searched.

And searched.

He swept the entire flat, paying special attention to Ludwig's office, shaking books, lifting rugs, sifting through paper after paper and rummaging in drawer after drawer. His computer held nothing incriminating; only pictures from previous vacations to various parts of Germany, Italy, and their mutual friend Kiku's house in Japan. No notes from mysterious men or women. No weird or suspicious (Romano was expecting criminal) activities. Ludwig Beilschmidt was cleaner than…well…pretty much anything.

Defeated and exhausted from his fruitless work, he retired a bedroom, entertaining the notion that _maybe _the potato bastard wasn't as bad as the Italian was making him out to be.

He caught himself, though. That Ludwig guy fucking _sucked, _he decided. Much better.

* * *

Ludwig arrived to the flat that day exceptionally early. A bomb scare got the higher ups all in a tizzy and sent the lot of them home, leaving the German with an unfamiliar feeling of restlessness and unproductivity. He barely ever saw his home in the light, since he was working at this hour or asleep on weekends, and the German clock reflected a bright glare from the sun streaming in through the balcony doors. It chimed the hour, and Ludwig squinted past the glare. It was just about ten o'clock; far too early to eat lunch, and far too late to contemplate going back to sleep. He sighed.

The place seemed eerily quiet, and by now, the German expected to be greeted by a warming embrace by his Italian lover and good natured questions on his early arrival. The embrace never came, even when Ludwig waited in the doorway for several minutes, simply peering around and thinking of what exactly Feliciano _did _all day, and then it hit him.

He's asleep. Of course!

Ludwig crept across the living room and into the hall where the door to their shared bedroom awaited. He pressed an ear to it, and faintly heard the ins and outs of deep breathing, indicating that Feliciano had been asleep for quite a while. He twisted the knob with a dull click, and opened the door just wide enough to step in, knowing that any creak would surely wake the Italian up. Heavy drapes Feliciano insisted on blocked all light from getting in, but in the darkness, he could make out his lover's mop of hair with its signature curl. Ludwig would never be described as light footed, but he was quite happy with himself as he took off his shoes and tiptoed around to the other side of their bed and gingerly slipped in next to his lover. His arms wrapped around the boys waist, and he leaned in close to whisper lovingly.

"Good morning, Feli. Mind if I join you?"

The Italian reacted immediately, instantly awakening with uncharacteristically ungraceful jerks of his body. Though, even more unexpectedly, get jumped away to the point of nearly falling off the rather large bed, and bellowed an earsplitting scream.

It was at that moment that Ludwig knew he made a horrible mistake.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING YOU GIANT GERMAN POTATO HEAD?"

* * *

**Oooh…plot twist! Though, really, who didn't see that coming? I knew I needed to start writing again, and this vague idea started bitching at me, so here it is! The start of my first multi-chap story ever. How exciting. You're a part of history! Read and review and all that jazz. Tell me how cool that cliff hanger was. Ya know you want to. :D**


	2. Chapter 2

_Arthur disapproves of another one of my brilliant ideas…well…he'll see. I'll get that basketball court if I have to demolish the twenty-eighth floor all by myself!_

Alfred Jones was not at all what the average person called a "smart man." He was funny, well…at least people laughed at him. Alfred rarely understood why people laughed at him even when he wasn't trying to be funny, but he digressed. His brilliant ideas were always ignored, pushed to side like broccoli on a ten-year-old's dinner plate, but not today! No, siree! Never again will his boss, Arthur Kirkland, ignore his brilliant ideas. He admits the self-invented automatic toaster he put in the break room wasn't one of his _best _creations, especially when it exploded and bits of charred whole wheat flew everywhere, but that basketball court was GENIUS.

It was seven a.m. when Freddy (as he insisted everyone called him, seeing as Alfred reminded him of that Pennyworth English weirdo that was Batman's butler, and he wouldn't have that…he was made in America, baby!) approached the office building, its entire front reflecting the bright morning sun. He clutched onto his briefcase tightly, for inside held the key to his reckoning, the thing that would finally make that Kirkland listen to what he had to say. He walked through the lobby tensely, a was practically bouncing, much to the disturbance of his elevator partner, Francis Bonnefoy, who worked in sales and hit on anything that moved, client or employee, save for Freddy himself. His cute little Canadian assistant Matthew AKA Freddy's younger step-brother, but never the American fool. Freddy could just kiss Francis's ass.

Thankfully, Francis got off on the tenth floor, which allowed the bespectacled blond more time to prepare his plan.

_Alright, dude. You can do this. You've exploded things a thousand times before. Go in, set the timer, and get the fuck out. You got this, broski. You got this. _

He whistled _Tiptoe through the Tulips _as the digital numbers continued to rise and finally stop at his destination, the twenty-eighth floor. Filled with hysterically maniacal glee, he bounded out of the sliding doors and slapped against the hardwood floors (the inspiration for his basketball court in the first place) as he made his way to his destination in particular: Kirkland's desk. Exploding the dude's office was the perfect revenge; almost poetic. Though, Freddy didn't often indulge in poetry (besides Dr. Seuss) and just thought of how awesomesauce all those windows in his corner office would look shattering at once.

Just as he was about to step into the office, he heard a voice crying out behind him.

"_**WAIT!"**_

Freddy turned around, and it was none other than Arthur Kirkland himself in all his bushy eyebrowed glory. He seemed out of breath, and he held a mug of tea in his nail bitten hands, though it was cold and barely touched. Had he been at the office all this time waiting for him to blow something up? And drinking _tea _while he waited only made the coffee drinking manly man Fred all the more anxious to blow the loser's office up.

"What are you doing here, Arthur?" Freddy asked, not in fear or real surprise, but more irritation than anything else. He expected road blocks in his brilliant plan, because, hey, they happened, but he hadn't expected the British busy body to burst in and bust his best brainstorm than ever before (trying saying _that _five times fast). Fred's blue eyes narrowed as he watched Arthur walk closer and he gripped his briefcase more tightly on instinct.

"I saw your vague Facebook status last night and I wanted to see if everything was alright," Arthur responded, "I figured it was about your new ideas you pitched to me yesterday, and I thought you might do something stupid."

"_I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING STUPID!" _Freddy screamed defensively, "_YOU ALWAYS CALL ME STUPID WHEN I'M NOT!" _Freddy paused a moment, trying to think of the worst name he could think of… _"YOU'RE…YOU'RE…YOU'RE A MEANIEFACE!"_

"Now, now, Mr. Jones. Calm down…"

"_I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!"_

"Oh, Lord…"

"_I WON'T!" _Fred was enraged and hurling random objects at Arthur, the worst of which being open staplers that promised to make the office manager into a neat booklet of death if aimed appropriately. Good thing that Fred's aim wasn't good when he was calm, let alone when he was in a fit of maniacal rage, so they soared past his British boss by whole feet at a time.

"Don't do anything crazy now, Jones…" Arthur urged. "Take a deep breath and step away from the fountain pens."

Fred smiled, though it didn't comfort Arthur much _AT ALL. _It was creepy, evil, and just not fun to see on a face as innocent as Fred's. He set his briefcase down on Kirkland's desk, flipping it open with a dull click and fiddled a bit inside.

"Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland. I have my own pens."

The way Fred said this made Arthur's skin crawl, and against his better judgment, he decided to step closer, gingerly sidestepping around the desk and peering into his employee's briefcase, and gasping.

Inside was a small metal box with many multicolored wires wrapping around and protruding at odd angles, and a smooth digital interface reading:

**25:00**

"Jones…this…this _THING…"_

"…is going to blow up the floor in exactly twenty-five minutes." Freddy completed.

"You're insane."

"_**NO…**_" huffed Freddy indignantly, "I'm a _**GENIUS!"**_

"Jones…Fred. Be reasonable…"

"_YOU BE REASONABLE!" _At this point, Freddy sounded more than a bit like a child whose mom wouldn't buy him a new deck of Pokemon cards. Then, it changed; he relaxed and grinned whole-heartedly as Arthur's last statement sunk in. "Hey! You called me Fred!"

Arthur furrowed his gigantic brow in confusion. "Yeeeees…so what?"

"So what? _SO WHAT?" _Unfortunately, he was still quite crazed, so Arthur noted he still had to proceed with caution. "I've been trying to get you to call me Freddy for the last _three years!_" Blast. The hysterical American had been correct. It was the last bit of professionalism Arthur had tried to enforce as his employee…as Freddy had further weaseled himself into, not only, frequently his personal space , but also a good deal of his personal life, and _maybe _a couple of his dreams.

"If that's what all this is about, fine. I'll call you Freddy," the Brit sighed resolutely. "Just…please. Get that thing out of here."

Freddy's dazzling smile drooped slightly, and he looked away and out the floor to ceiling windows, peering out distractedly at the street below. "Arthur…it isn't about that…"

"Then what is it?" Kirkland interrupted rudely (in Freddy's opinion, anyway)

"You don't respect me! Or any ideas I've ever suggested!"

"That's because they're bloody terrible!" retorted Arthur. Oh, fuck. He's gotten the floor blown up now. Instantaneously, he tried to salvage what little grasp of the situation he had. "Look…How about I get you a basketball hoop in the breakroom…Freddy?" he tried, hesitation weaving through every letter of every word.

Never in his wildest dreams did Arthur Kirkland ever envision a Tuesday morning waiting up for Fred blowing apart his entire floor, but here they were, and the American was tentatively closing the briefcase-turned-bomb. After he closed it, both of the blonds just stared at it for a whole two or three minutes, the gravity of the situation taking its toll on Arthur's damaged psyche, while ignoring Freddy's already destroyed one. Fred merely smiled and hoisted the briefcase back to his side, looking over his shoulder as he stood in the doorway.

"I knew you liked me, Arthur. Least now you finally admit it."

Kirkland stood flabbergasted and looked on as Freddy chuckled, and strolled along the office hallway back toward the elevator doors, the way he'd come. The Brit made a b-line for the American as the initial shock at the misguided assumption wore off, though Kirkland was still a bit too frazzled to articulate what was entirely wrong with what the bombastic buffoon just said.

"Look, Arty. You can take me out for coffee after we tell the security guard that we found a suspicious looking briefcase on Braginski from research's desk and he should take a look at it, but don't think you can take me to bed right away, mister. I'm a little bit classier than that."

Silence still lingered even after Freddy's reasonably length monologue, until Kirkland found something to say. His mouth opened and closed several times like a fish out of water, and his eyes bulged at the _gall _this bloody wanker had. When he did speak, however, he shocked even himself, though the American didn't seem at all surprised with his mundane reaction.

"_You're _taking _me _out, Jones. I'm not paying for _your _ruddy coffee after what you just put me through."

Freddy only smiled and nodded his head. "Deal."

* * *

Germany knew he was fucked, and obviously (thankfully?) not in the good way, considering he had the wrong Italian screaming obscenities in his bed. Romano's expression of horror as he ran from the room, cursing the aforementioned "potato head" in the process, was enough to seal the German's fate. Romano would tell Feliciano that Ludwig had tried to sleep with him and it would game over. The overly-emotional (yet still lovable!) Italian would burst into tears and storm out, and Romano would guffaw and sneer at the German losing his love forever.

It was only a matter of time for Romano, for no one knew how long Feliciano would be gone when buying food, because the spaz had to look at every kind of cheese and _every _kind of pasta, which led to a tension filled morning with Ludwig and Romano. When Ludwig had made an attempt to _talk_ to the insufferable Italian about what transpired, Romano only rolled his eyes and turned the TV up louder, so that the soap opera on Telemundo was blaring throughout the entire apartment, and reduced the German's brains to mush.

"Why do you even watch that? You don't even speak Spanish!" Ludwig exclaimed.

Romano visibly colored, "Spanish is very closely related to Italian, you khaki wearing, potato stewing yuppie!" The Italian seemed rather distraught with what the said yuppie thought was an innocent question, and in response, turned it up even louder, to the point where Ludwig had to scream to be heard.

"AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH KHAKI?" the German roared as he rummaged through the living room coat closet and pulled out a pair of earmuffs. Even muffled, he could still hear some actress in way to much makeup screaming at a guy with too many top buttons on his shirt unbuttoned in Spanish.

"NOTHING!" Romano screamed equally loud, "EXCEPT IF YOU'RE A NAZI OR ON SAFARI! AND BETWEEN THOSE TWO, I THINK YOU KNOW WHICH ONE IS MORE LIKELY, BECAUSE I DON'T SEE ANY FUCKING GIRRAFFES!"

Ludwig massaged the bridge of his nose in pained irritation, caused by both Romano's remarks and the incredibly loud and badly sung rendition of _La Bamba _pouring out of his stereo speakers. He cursed under his breath, hoping that God was merciful and would just sniper shoot him in the head right now. Too bad he had white carpet, or he might've done the deed himself.

"What are you mumbling about, potato bastard?" sneered Romano, temporarily muting the television set and giving Ludwig a moment's relief. His ears were ringing and his mind twitched from the prolonged exposure to cacophony, but it didn't deter him from making smart remarks.

"I think you're just having very close relations with a Spaniard…"

"H-…How do you…? Why I oughta…" Romano wailed, rushing at the German, planning to tackle and otherwise physically assault him. Like his brother, Romano was incredibly short, perhaps only up to Ludwig's chest, and because of this handicap coupled the German's reasonable upper body strength, Ludwig was able to hold Romano back by his forehead as the Italian swung punches futilely. Had the German had a sense of humor, he might have offered a laugh at Romano's expense.

In the scuttle, neither could hear the ridiculous jangle of Feliciano's twelve keychain key ring until he burst through the front door, many _many _bags of groceries in his hand, practically _singing. _

"_ROMAAAAANO… I'm HOME! ~3" _Yeah. Even the HEART was in that shit. 'Cause that's how Feliciano rolls, motherfucker.

The huge grin on his face only widened when he saw Ludwig, and he actually opened his eyes to transmit his happy surprise.

"Ludwig! You didn't tell me you were going to be home early! I would've made you lunch!" The red headed little ball of adorable dropped all his groceries, ran and hugged the German in an inordinately tight embrace, which made Ludwig's hold on Romano's forehead waver, and the surly Italian plummeted to the floor with a satisfying _THUNK _and _OW!_

Feliciano pulled away and helped Romano to his feet. Romano, not being one to particularly like assistance, pushed his brother away a tad too roughly and brushed nonexistent dust off his good shirt. "Are you okay, Romano? I think you got a bump on the head!" Feliciano said, forgetting immediately about his brother's rudeness. "Maybe you should get ice on that!"

Romano's eyes narrowed and he snapped, "I don't need ice. What I need is psychological counseling!"

"Psycho-…what?" was Feliciano's only effort to try and understand his brother's complicated speech patterns. Really…he could be such a little shit with his word choices sometimes. But don't tell anyone that Feliciano thought that.

"I mean…I'll need help after what that big German palooka did to me earlier!" Romano crossed his arms and pouted, something that on Feliciano, Ludwig would've found adorable, but on this demonic twin, reeeeally fucking disturbing.

"It was an accident you stupid…"

"_And _he's calling me _names. _You certainly know how to pick them, Feli," Romano said, faking innocence with the grace of a rhinoceros in a tutu. "I'll have you know your _boyfriend_," he spat at the word, spraying it in Ludwig's direction, "Tried to rape me!"

"Don't be silly! It can't be true! Ludwig would never hurt anybody!" Feliciano said joyously, taking his chance to hug the German heartthrob again.

"Suuuure he wouldn't…" Romano said dryly, "Which is why he has all those handcuffs and whips in his closet…"

"What we do in our free time is none of your business, _Lovino._" Feliciano said sharply. Romano twitched. He didn't like being called Lovino, because it sounded too much like _love,_ and _love_ is for the weak. "I'm sure whatever you have against Ludi is just some big misunderstanding!" Romano twitched again, this time even more pronouncedly. His brother calling the German nothing short of "the monster" severely disturbed him.

"He asked me if he could join when I was lying in bed!"

"I thought you were Feli!" Ludwig responded tiredly, "I told you a thousand times!"

"And I can't believe you couldn't tell the difference between your boyfriend of a year and a half and his brother!" Romano cried.

"Well maybe you should cut your damn hair so I can tell you apart then!" the German growled.

"SO IT'S MY FAULT YOU CAN'T SEE PROPERLY? PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SWITCH TO CARROTS, THEN, YOU POTATO EATING FREAK!"

Ludwig approached Romano, his shadow casting over and two feet behind the smaller man. Romano knew he should have been scared, but he also knew that the German lughead wouldn't harm a hair on his head if his brother was around. Ludwig merely glared and stepped away, steam almost pouring from his nostrils. Feliciano cleared his throat, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Sooo…you wanted to spend some time with me on your day off, Ludwig?" Feliciano said cautiously, hoping he didn't sound too optimistic as he looked up to Ludwig with big puppy dog eyes.

"Of course I did, Feliciano. I wouldn't dream of spending it with anyone else."

The couple embraced and kissed passionately, and Romano gagged at the disgusting display of lovey-doveyness. He stalked away so he wouldn't have to see his brother sucking face with some scumbag loser and walked into the nearest room and slammed the door.

They broke apart for a moment, just so Ludwig could yell, "That's a closet, you doofus," before promptly shoving his tongue back down Feliciano's throat, to which the Italian giggled and reciprocated.

Closet or not, Ludwig was going to get his comeuppance. All Romano needed was a brilliant plan.

"_Yeah…because the last one was simply __**flawless**__." _Romano told himself.

He was gonna be in that closet for a looooong time.

* * *

**Oh. My. God. Chapter two is finally done! *balloons rain down eighties prom style* But seriously, thanks to the first set of reviewers for making me want to continue. Yes, I did actually flesh out that "bomb scare" bullshit from chapter one. You didn't think I would, but I did. You guys should request other subplots, too! Arthur and Freddy's coffee date? Ivan Braginski's flee from the police? Let me know! Until next time, review and receive slices of white chocolate cream pie. :D**


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